C.L.

My mother has schizophrenia and depression. Growing up, I could never understand her illness and hated her for acting the way she did. I always ended up angry and confused after trying to fight against her hallucinations and delusional ideas. Although this was definitely not healthy behavior, I didn’t know anything else; tolerating her mental illness was just a regular part of my life.

The end of high school leading up to the start of college was a challenging time for me. I lost a classmate to suicide and had recently recovered from an eating disorder. I was dealing with a lot of personal struggles while life around me was changing so fast with college applications, work, and moving away from home. There are so many moments during this time period where I wish my mother could have been there for me and not the other way around. I wish she could have been there the day I heard the news of my classmate’s suicide and started crying in the middle of class because the harsh realization hit me that he would never live to attend graduation or get married. I wish she could have taken me to see a therapist when I couldn’t admit that I needed to myself. I wish she could have been there to move me into my dorm on the first day of college and take me shopping at Target like all the other parents did. I wish she could have believed in me when I was intimidated by my first college classes and doubted if I was smart enough to be an engineer.

As I was transitioning into college and making the first large decisions in my life, I also began to really analyze my relationship with my mother. As everything else in my life was changing, I no longer wanted to accept what had been my entire childhood, and I realized what an unhealthy situation I was in. I called my father over the phone multiple times, crying and begging him to help me find her professional medical help because this was not right.

Eventually, I decided that it was best for me not to be with my mother. I could not cure her mental illness, and our relationship was a huge source of stress in my life that I did not know how to cope with. I was torn between caring about my mother and wanting to help while also being unable to help without it being detrimental to my own wellbeing. I reached out to my father and asked to live with him. Since then, I have not spoken to my mother in over four years. I wonder where she is living, who she is with, and if she even misses me. I still struggle with guilt and question if I am a terrible daughter for choosing to leave.

My first year at Cal Poly gave me space away from these problems at home, but they still existed. At times, I felt even more alone because as I was meeting new people and enjoying new experiences, I was even less likely to open up about my personal struggles. Everyone had told me that college was a great time to leave behind my high school self and start over with a blank slate. While this was somewhat true, it made opening up and being vulnerable even harder. I wanted to make new friends, be fun, and not make people feel like they had to tip-toe around me or worry about triggering me.

I was ashamed of my mother and never spoke of her illness because I didn’t think anyone could understand it; I lived with her my whole life and still couldn’t figure it out. It is so easy to learn about mental illness in a psychology class or listen to a presentation about it during WOW, but it takes on a whole new dimension when the facts in a textbook or on a PowerPoint slide have become the reality of my life. I never wanted to admit or recognize it, but mental illness is a living challenge that has shaped me as a person.

The hardest part of this experience was how alone I felt through all of it. I never opened up to anyone about my relationship with my mother because I felt that I was the only one burdened with this challenge. Everyone else seemed to have perfect families that celebrated Mother’s Day with flowers and had dinner together at Thanksgiving, whereas I always immediately felt anxious whenever the topic of family was brought up. I have never been comfortable talking about my relationship with my mother and my struggles with mental illness because I’ve never been able to fully cope with it myself, but I have grown to the point of realization that I do not hate my mother. I just hate her mental illness. And sadly, that is the only thing I have had the chance to know, but I love her and hope that one day I can meet her.

I felt like this part of my life was not something I felt comfortable sharing on social media because I was afraid that people would perceive me differently knowing what I had gone through. I wanted to maintain my image of being fun and having my life put together. My biggest fear was that if people found out about my mother’s illness or my past experiences, they would pity me and view me as weak.

No one really talks about it, but being a supporter of someone who struggles with mental illness is a challenge. I’ve dealt with a lot of guilt, shame, and confusion. Even as an adult, I still have not found closure in my relationship with my mother, but I accept that it will take time and that I need to give myself space to grow. Through my experiences, I have learned that the most important thing to do is prioritize my own health and wellbeing. Mental illness is complicated and not something I can cure, no matter how much I love my mother and wish I could. Also, I have learned the importance of being vulnerable. I used to believe that strength was the ability to remain put together and not let anyone see you crack under pressure. It is the exact opposite in reality. True strength is allowing yourself to be vulnerable and being comfortable with not being perfect. Trying to hide my struggles with mental illness from everyone around me was difficult, but exposing myself as going through these challenges and being able to share this at Girls Who Handle It is even harder. Even though opening up is scary, the possibility that I could be helping someone else going through a similar situation makes it worth it. I have found strength in accepting my struggles and taken pride in my ability to grow from them. When we are able to overcome the fear of being vulnerable, we can create a community where people feel comfortable reaching out for help and are empowered to share their own stories.